Two perspectives on the Taj Mahal: Beauty at the V&A, brutality on stage
The V&A’s exhibition celebrates the Taj Mahal’s artistic brilliance, while Rajiv Joseph’s Guards at the Taj delves into the darker myths surrounding its creation
Usaamah
Ibraheem Hussain as Babur
and Maanuv Thiara as
Humayun in Guards at the Taj
By Amit RoyNov 18, 2024
THE Taj Mahal figures both in The Great Mughals: Art, Architecture and Opulence exhibition at the V&A and also in Rajiv Joseph’s play, Guards at the Taj, at the innovative Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond.
The treatment could not be more different. At the V&A, the Taj is an object of unparalleled beauty, with stunning drone footage of the marble mausoleum. There are also examples of the intricate marble work for which the Taj is famous. The exhibition catalogue has fine drawings of the cenotaphs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal inside the burial chamber in the Taj.
In a chapter, Portable monuments: The reproduction of Mughal architecture, Divia Patel, curator, south Asia in the Asian Department at the V&A, has written: “A particularly fine example is the cenotaph of Shah Jahan in which a delicate hand and a pronounced attention to detail is evident. Along the top edge is a finely inscribed title ‘The tomb of his Majesty whose Seat is in paradise – of Saheb Kerayn the Second – The Emperor Shah Jehaun – Sanctified be his dwelling’.”
She says: “Together with the images of the cenotaphs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal these illustrations demonstrate the artists’ careful delineation of the floral designs and Koranic inscriptions on the tombs. The rendering of each flower, leaf, stem and scroll accurately copies the original even on such small-scale drawings. Close observation indicates that the artists have attempted to replicate the natural stratification of the coloured stone that constitutes an individual petal within a flower, as well as the exterior range of hues of the overall scheme.”
In Guards at the Taj, Shah Jahan’s sparkling white marble creation has an unseen presence, but nevertheless casts a dark shadow across the lives of the play’s two protagonists. They are Humayun and Babur, who have been friends since they were boys, but are now members of the Imperial Guard charged with guarding the Taj. They are played by Maanuv Thiara and Usaamah Ibraheem Hussain, respectively. The play is directed by Adam Karim on a minimalist stage.
There must be a reason why the playwright, Rajiv Joseph, who is American, has called his characters, Humayun and Babur. The Mughal dynasty was founded by Babur (1483-1530), who was succeeded by his son, Humayun (1508- 1556). He was followed by the great Akbar (1542-1605), and Jahangir (1569-1627), before the throne passed to Shah Jahan (1592-1666). History books tell us the Taj Mahal, commissioned by Shah Jahan in memory of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, took 20,000 men 20 years to build.
Legend has it that Shah Jahan wanted to build an exact replica of the Taj, but in black marble on the other side of the Jamuna river. But he died before the project could get under way and was buried next to Mumtaz. That is said to explain why his grave is the only thing that is asymmetrical in the whole structure.
Many myths attach to the Taj. One is that Shah Jahan had the chief architect’s thumb cut off so that he would not be able to build another Taj. But in Guards at the Taj, Joseph goes further and has Humayun and Babur chop off the hands of all 20,000 craftsmen who worked on the project. The stage is stained with blood as are their clothes.
Credit is given in the programme to a company called “Pigs Might Fly”, Orange Tree’s “Theatrical Blood Supplier”. There is no evidence that Shah Jahan was guilty of any such cruelty, but the legends have come down the centuries through the power of oral story telling.
Joseph begins his play in 1648 when the Taj is very nearly built. But the emperor has forbidden anyone to look at his creation until the finishing touches are completed. But using the exchanges between Humayun and Babur, Joseph wants to examine deeper issues, such as freedom of speech and what happens in a society subjected to authoritarian rule.
From the start, Humayun is portrayed as someone who is rigid in his thinking and comfortable only when blindly following orders. Babur is much more rebellious and anxious to explore the world around him. In the very first scene, he turns up late, tries to get dressed quickly, holds his sword in the wrong hand and clearly irritates Humayun.
When he tries to chat about the bird sounds in the jungle, Humayun admonishes him, “Would you be quiet!”, and adds, “Imperial Guards of the Great Walled City of Agra, Sworn to the Eternal Dominion of His Most Supreme Benevolence Emperor Shah Jahan ... Do Not Speak.”
He points out, “Among the Sacred Oaths of the Mughal Imperial Guard is to Never Speak,” and that, “In silence, we are vigilant.”
Babur is told: “The tiniest of infractions will see us both gone, quick-stuffed to the lowliest gullies of Agra.”
There is a sliding scale for sedition: “Punishment for Mild Sedition: 40 lashes with a whip and a shaved head. And Medium Sedition carries a sentence of blinding. Extreme Sedition: Being sewn into the hide of a water buffalo and left in the sun for seven days. And in the case of Treason: Death by elephant. All of which is to say, Babur, shut up. Imperial Guards are Not To Speak!”
“You won’t tell on me,” pleads Babur.
Humayun is not reassuring: “Well, I won’t lie.”
“Come on! We’re brothers, you and me,” says Babur. Humayun is dismissive: “We’re not brothers, we’re just friends.” Humayun is worried he will lose his job, but apparently his father is well connected, according to Babur: “And who is your father? Only simply the highest of high command in the All-On-High Imperial Guard.”
Humayun is obviously scared of his father, which is significant because the time will come when he will be called upon to sever Babur’s hands as a condition of allowing his friend to live. But in the end Humayun appears to go further and executes his friend for questioning the authority of the emperor. But that is yet to come.
Babur wants to see the Taj before the emperor has given his permission.
“They say it’s white,” offers Humayun.
“Yeah, but just white?” wonders Babur. “Is it skinny? Is it fat? I mean, what shape will it be? All we know are those protective walls that have hidden it these past 16 years.”
He goes on: “It’s crazy! 16 years in the making! Since we were kids, they’ve been building this! And yet we have no idea what it will look like!”
Humayun is not moved: “His Most Supreme Emperor Shah Jahan decreed that no one shall see it until it is fully completed.” Humayun does not like it when Babur says he dreams of being allocated guard duty in the emperor’s harem where he would be “surrounded by naked women!” He tells Babur that “it’s not some depraved house of sluts!”, “it’s not some hotbed of wanton lust!” and, with a straight face, “it’s a government department, like any other office. It’s where the emperor does his most confidential work”. In the end, Babur, sickened by the blood, protests, “20,000 people don’t have hands,” and rejects Humayun’s defence, “We carried out our duties efficiently.”
And Babur pays the ultimate prices for raging against the emperor. Disturbing and gripping, but not a play to take your children.
Guards at the Taj is playing at the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond until Saturday (16)
Banksy’s ‘Piranhas’ artwork, painted on a police sentry box, is being stored ahead of display at London Museum.
The piece was originally one of nine works that appeared across London in August 2024.
It will form part of the museum’s new Smithfield site, opening in 2026.
The City of London Corporation donated the artwork as part of its £222m museum relocation project.
Banksy’s police box artwork in storage
A Banksy artwork known as Piranhas has been placed in storage ahead of its future display at the London Museum’s new Smithfield site, scheduled to open in 2026. The piece features spray-painted piranha fish covering the windows of a police sentry box, giving the illusion of an aquarium.
From Ludgate Hill to Guildhall Yard
The police box, which had stood at Ludgate Hill since the 1990s, was swiftly removed by the City of London Corporation after Banksy confirmed authorship. It was initially displayed at Guildhall Yard, where visitors could view it from behind safety barriers. The Corporation has since voted to donate the piece to the London Museum.
Museum’s first contemporary street art
London Museum’s Head of Curatorial, Glyn Davies, said:
“With the arrival of Banksy’s Piranhas, our collection now spans from Roman graffiti to our first piece of contemporary street art. This work by one of the world’s most iconic artists now belongs to Londoners, and will keep making waves when it goes on show next year in the Museum’s new Smithfield home.”
Formerly known as the Museum of London, the institution closed its London Wall site in December 2022 as part of its relocation. It rebranded as the London Museum in July 2024, with £222m allocated by the City of London Corporation to support the move. The project is expected to attract two million visitors annually and create more than 1,500 jobs.
Part of Banksy’s animal-themed series
Piranhas was one of nine animal-themed works Banksy created across London in August 2024. The series also featured a rhino on a car, two elephants with interlocked trunks, monkeys swinging from a bridge, a howling wolf on a satellite dish, and a goat painted on a wall. Some of the artworks were later vandalised, removed, or covered up.
Preserving street art for the public
Chris Hayward, policy chairman of the City of London Corporation, said:
“Banksy stopped Londoners in their tracks when this piece appeared in the Square Mile – and now, we’re making it available to millions. By securing it for London Museum, we’re not only protecting a unique slice of the City’s story, but also adding an artwork that will become one of the museum’s star attractions.”
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Aditya Chopra (right) with his father, Yash Chopra
BOLLYWOOD filmmaker Aditya Chopra was last Thursday (21) named among the nominees of the UK Stage Debut Awards for his Come Fall in Love – The DDLJ Musical, performed at Manchester’s Opera House earlier this year.
Chopra delivered a blockbuster in 1995 with Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, popular as DDLJ, with Kajol and Shah Rukh Khan in the lead roles. It was adapted to a theatrical production and had its UK premiere in May.
Chopra reprised his role as director of the English stage production, which revolves around the love story of Simran and Roger.
Shah Rukh Khan visits the cast of Come Fall in Love The DDLJ Musical during rehearsals in London Danny Kaan
“This year’s nominees embody the future of British theatre, and I can’t wait to celebrate their achievements,” said Alistair Smith, editor of The Stage theatrical publication.
“This year there are several individuals with south Asian heritage being recognised for their excellence in directing: among the nominees is Amit Sharma for Ryan Calais Cameron’s Retrograde (in the Best Creative West End Debut category),” said the awards panel in a statement.
Also nominated are Adam Karim for Guards at the Taj at the Orange Tree Theatre, London, and visionary Indian filmmaker Aditya Chopra for Come Fall In Love at Manchester’s Opera House, who are both in the running for the best director category, the statement added.
The winners will be announced on September 28.
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The group have introduced fresh orchestral elements and added instruments to expand their live sound
The Shahbaz Fayyaz Qawwal Group return to the UK with a nationwide tour after viral success online.
The ensemble of brothers blend centuries-old qawwali traditions with fresh improvisations that connect with young audiences.
From Pakistan to the USA and UK, their performances have won acclaim for their electrifying energy and spiritual depth.
Fans can expect new instruments, reimagined classics, and the same message of love and harmony at this year’s shows.
From viral sensation to global stages
When a performance goes viral, it can change an artist’s career overnight. For the Shahbaz Fayyaz Qawwal Group, their stirring renditions of Bhar Do Jholi and B Kafara propelled them from local fame in Pakistan to global recognition, amassing millions of views across platforms. What set them apart was not just the power of their voices, but the way their music resonated with younger listeners who were hearing qawwali with fresh ears.
That viral momentum soon carried them beyond borders, leading to major performances in the United States and the UK. “It wasn’t just one track,” the group explained. “We revived older gems like Kali Kali Zulfon and Dil Pukare Aaja in our own style, and those went viral again, showing that qawwali still speaks across generations.”
Heritage, family and style
The Shahbaz Fayyaz Qawwal Group’s uniqueness lies in their roots. Composed of seven brothers and joined by fellow musicians from respected musical families, the ensemble was trained by their late father, himself a master of the art form. On stage, as many as 15 to 20 performers create a sound that is both deeply traditional and daringly modern.
Their shows are alive with improvisation. In the middle of a devotional track, harmonium player Shahbaz might suddenly weave in a melody from a contemporary Bollywood hit, while lead vocalist Fayyaz channels his energy into unrestrained movements and audience interaction. “When different styles meet, something new emerges,” they said. “That’s what keeps the music vibrant.”
UK audiences and the international journey
Having performed across the USA, the Middle East and Europe, the group describe UK audiences as particularly electric. “Each time we perform here, the atmosphere is charged. People don’t just listen – they become part of the performance,” they said.
Their repertoire often draws requests from fans who expect to hear viral favourites alongside traditional classics. “Sometimes, if organisers don’t allow us to perform songs like B Kafara or Dil Pukare Aaja, the audience won’t let the show continue. That’s the level of passion here,” they recalled with a laugh.
Keeping qawwali alive for new generations
While the roots of qawwali stretch back centuries, the group see their role as carrying the tradition into the present. By fusing tabla, harmonium and handclaps with newer instruments and arrangements, they appeal to younger listeners without losing the music’s essence.
“We want every audience to feel peace, harmony and love when they leave our concerts,” they said. “An artist should never belong to just one group of people – music is for everyone.”
What fans can expect this tour
This year’s UK tour promises new surprises. The group have introduced fresh orchestral elements and added instruments to expand their live sound. Fans can expect a mix of beloved classics, spontaneous improvisations, and the chance to hear qawwali reimagined for today’s world.
For Shahbaz Fayyaz Qawwal Group, the mission remains unchanged: to honour their heritage, embrace new audiences, and spread the universal message at the heart of their art. As they put it: “We look forward to growing together with our fans. Let’s celebrate qawwali as a tradition that belongs to everyone.”
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Born in 1864 in Visakhapatnam, Annie began medical studies at Madras Medical College, one of the few institutions in India then open to women.
DR ANNIE WARDLAW JAGANNADHAM was the first Indian woman to gain a medical degree at a British university and have her name added to the UK medical register in 1890.
Her story has been revisited by the General Medical Council (GMC) as part of South Asian Heritage Month. Tista Chakravarty-Gannon, from the GMC Outreach team, explored her life with support from GMC archivist Courtney Brucato.
Chakravarty-Gannon wrote in a blog, “In my role at the GMC much of my work is focused on supporting international doctors, and on anti-racism. It’s work that lies close to my heart. My father was born in India but emigrated to the UK in the 1960s.”
She added, “If you wind the clock back even further, it must have been even harder to make that journey and assimilate into a not particularly diverse society and profession. Unsurprisingly, in the late 19th century doctors were almost all male and white. It was going to take some remarkable women to turn that tide. I’ve been lucky enough to spend time talking to our archivist, Courtney Brucato, about one such woman – Annie Jagannadham.”
Early years Born in 1864 in Visakhapatnam, Annie was the daughter of Christian missionary parents. At 20, she began medical studies at Madras Medical College, one of the few institutions in India then open to women.
She studied practical midwifery under Dr Arthur Mudge Branfoot, who had spoken about the “folly and inadvisability of educating women as doctors.”
Barriers and opportunities Indian medical qualifications were not fully recognised under the colonial system. For women, studying abroad was often the only route to legitimacy.
In 1888, Annie received a scholarship from the Countess of Dufferin Fund to study at the Edinburgh Medical School for Women. The Fund, set up under Queen Victoria, aimed to improve women’s health in India through scholarships and support for health infrastructure.
She studied for the conjoint medical and surgical qualification of the three Scottish Colleges, known as the “Scottish Triple” or “TQ”.
Academic success Annie graduated with special credit, worked as a demonstrator of anatomy at Surgeons’ Hall, and achieved top marks in several examinations. On 2 May 1890, she was granted registration with the General Medical Council.
She then worked as a house officer at the Edinburgh Hospital for Women and Children under Dr Sophia Jex-Blake, who described her as of “fine and finished character.” Annie gained experience in obstetrics and gynaecology and was made a Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh, the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, and the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow.
Return to India In 1892, Annie returned to India as a House Surgeon at Cama Hospital in Bombay (now Mumbai), under Dr Edith Pechey, one of the Edinburgh Seven who had campaigned for women’s right to study medicine.
Early death Two years later, Annie contracted tuberculosis. She returned to her family in Visakhapatnam and died in 1894 at the age of 30.
The Chronicle of the London Missionary Society published an obituary, noting, “it is to be feared that the early death, which those who knew her now mourn so deeply, was largely due to her self-denying labours on behalf of the sufferers in the hospital.” It added, “though the course [of her life] has been short, it has been useful and bright,” praising her independence, modesty, and “unostentatious service.”
Legacy On the 1891 medical register, Annie was one of 129 female doctors compared to more than 29,000 men. This year, for the first time, there are more female than male doctors practising in the UK, and more ethnic minority doctors than white doctors.
Chakravarty-Gannon wrote, “It’s important to remember that to be listed on the medical register, Annie was required to step outside the Indian system, navigate another culture away from her friends and family, and prove herself all over again – because her original education wasn’t recognised in a colonial hierarchy.”
“Dr Jagannadham may not be a household name, but her courage and determination helped carve out a path that many generations have since followed. Her story is a powerful reminder of how far we’ve come – and how important it is to keep moving forward.”
South Asian Heritage Month runs from 18 July to 17 August each year, commemorating and celebrating South Asian cultures, histories, and communities.
Woodcut prints that explore the fragile threshold between body, time, and transcendence
Inspired by Baul mystics like Lalon Shai and Shah Abdul Karim, as well as sculptural forms from Michelangelo to Rodin
Figures emerge from black holes and womb-like voids — trapped in time yet reaching for freedom
A visual dialogue between flesh and spirit, rootedness and flight
A bold continuation of South Asian metaphysical traditions in contemporary form
Paradox becomes the path: muscular bodies dream of escape through light, memory, and love
Expressionist in tone, haunting in imagery — a theatre of becoming
I imagine Tarek Amin (Ruhul Amin Tarek) has a singular vision as his hands work on his craft, his measuring eyes, the membranes of his fingers. They are mostly woodcut prints on the threshold of becoming, from darkened holes. A human figure dangling in space, yet not without gravitational pull, the backwards tilt of the head is like a modern-day high jumper in the fall position, the muscles and ribcage straining to keep the body's mass afloat. A clock is ticking away in the background of a darkened rectangle. Is it the black hole, the womb, or the nothingness from which the first murmurings of being, its tentative emergence into light, can be heard?
A clock is ticking away in the background of a darkened rectangleManzu Islam
This one is in the darkened inside of a clock, as if in the womb of time, but not quite trapped in the savage tick-tock of the metronome, for the body in its stylised repose is already stirring to take flight. Why else would the face turn away from the body in its sideways position and look beyond the dark hole, beyond the frame of time?
Even the figure deep in sleep in the primal bed of the darkened womb is not as lost to time as it first appears. The legs have already wriggled their way beyond the frame. Besides, the folds of the garment covering the lower body are billowing in the wind, as if responding to the summons of the beyond to take flight into the infinite. They are all over, these black holes that imprison even a tiny flicker of light. Staged almost as an expressionist theatre reminiscent of Ludwig Kirchner et al and the Bridge Group’s woodcut prints where dark areas, looming large, provide abodes for the likes of Nosferatu or the sinister zones of danger in a Hitchcock film, but always pointing to the lighted outside, the avenue of escape, even transcendence, as Tarek Amin tends to think.
Often bathed in metamorphic ochre and orange, these figures inspired by Bengal’s deep-rooted philosophers and mystical poets, such as Lalon Shai and Shah Abdul Karim, are swept along by their melodies of love and dread, which, despite being authorised in the name of an ineffable stranger, never fail to touch the very membrane of the soul. Perhaps that’s why Tarek Amin calls this series of artwork Echoes of Existence.
The body in its stylised repose is already stirring to take flightManzu Islam
In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Narcissus, trapped in the mirroring surface of the water, stays deaf to Echo’s lovelorn calls. From Tarek Amin’s canvases, the echoes resolute not to take no for an answer insist on being heard, even though they speak in whispers.
What do these echoes speak of? Mostly of bodies, sinuous bodies toned and chiselled like Yukio Mishima’s, destined for a metaphysical journey. These journeys are fraught with dangers, as Mishima’s have been, imploding in a manic misadventure. Tarek Amin’s bodies, taken at once from the body-centred metaphysics of the Bauls (of which Lalon Shai and Shah Abdul Karim are preeminent figures), and from the long lines of sculptures from Michelangelo to Rodin and beyond.
Auguste Rodin looked at Michelangelo, who spurred him on his creative journey. But the Frenchman, being a workman and given to the sheer materiality of objects, the thingness of things which prompted Rilke to his poetic exploration of Dinggedicht (thing-poem), gave his figures ample volume, substance, and the rough edges of their emergence. Rodin’s bodies, weighed down by their dense matter, are rooted in places. They are too heavy to take flight. Analogous to Rodin, although working in a different medium, is the work of Bangladeshi painter SM Sultan. His embodied figures, mainly peasants bulging with muscle, know only work. Labouring in the fields, their muscles protruding all over their anatomy, creating fleshy mountains and slopes that even the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn’t dream of in their wildest imagination, is too heavy. They seem more likely to sink under their own weight than take flight. If there is an escape route for them, it is by digging deep, like Kafka’s moles.
Sure, bodies are houses of being, but some bodies are bent on dragging their being elsewhere. This, I sense, is the case in Tarek Amin’s work. Muscular bodies, bound by the sheer force of their materiality, and yet they want to fly elsewhere, it doesn’t matter how one names it: beloved, divine, or even God (Lalon imagines him as a strange neighbour in a hall of mirrors so close and yet aeons away). It seems we’ve ended up with a paradox. Rooted in bodies and yet looking for lines of flight. Imprisoned by the clock and yet wishing to melt it away as Salvador Dalí so theatrically wanted, or as Henri Bergson so patiently waited to experience his durée, as the cubes of sugar dissolved in water, which sent young Marcel Proust wild with excitement, thinking he had found the key to retrieving lost time.
Yet paradox is not a negative force. In carnival, particularly in the Caribbean one sees some figures in their limbo dancing, lowering themselves to almost ground level to pass the bar, while others elongate themselves on stilts to touch the sky. The high and the low, all at the same time, is the force that disrupts the habitual orders of things. It unleashes the forces of creation.
Tarek Amin’s bodies, then rooted in their flesh and chiselled muscles, and in dreams of escape with the melodies of Lalon Shai and Shah Abdul Karim are the figures of freedom. It will be a bumpy ride, but I wish them well.
Exhibition Title:Echoes of Existence
Artist: Tarek Amin Date: 20–27 June 2025 Venue: Spitalfields Studios, London E1
Manzu Islam is a British-Bangladeshi writer and academic, author of The Mapmakers of Spitalfields, Burrow, and Godzilla and the Song Bird. His fiction explores migration, racism, and cultural identity through vivid storytelling rooted in postcolonial experiences.